


A New Sort of Awake

by LokishaLaufeyfey



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies RPF, Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, Thor (Movies), Thor (Movies) RPF
Genre: AU, Frostpudding, Gore, Hospitals, M/M, Rescue, Tomki, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-05
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-15 16:40:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/529371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LokishaLaufeyfey/pseuds/LokishaLaufeyfey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Loki is tortured for god knows how long, Tom finds him.  The sight is grotesque, and the changes permanent, magic or none.  Healing and coping would never come, how could it ever come, but Tom will not leave Loki's side, and together, they will learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haze

Loki was not entirely sure exactly how long he had been awake.

Then again, there was very little that Loki was entirely sure of anymore.

He was not even sure that he _was_ awake. And yet, of his alertness, he was as sure as he had _ever_ been.

It was a new sort of awake. It was too hot, though the air was cold, his blood flushed his face, his neck, his legs, his skin acting as a sort of biological incubator to the chill of the outside (the state of which he was not sure of either). It was a hyper-awareness blurred by a sort of hazing lens, which Loki figured stemmed at least partially from his eyes being held open, and they _had_ been held open for a very long time.

_How long, though?_

Loki was not sure.

The room was exceptionally bright, the walls painted a sharp white, except for one, which was made entirely of a single large mirror. It managed to bounce the light completely, sending it back into the sterility of the room, and back into Loki's already burning eyes.

Even with a vague awareness of the room, Loki could not concentrate on much else but the literal pounding in his chest as his heart thrummed at a force and rate that Loki guessed was at least double whatever was healthy, if not triple.

His muscles had begun to spasm, though not enough for he himself to notice. Small twitches, tremors every so often. And Loki was not worried.

He even laughed. Did they believe they could break his body this way?

He lapped at the dry inside of his mouth. The thirst was nearly as uncomfortable as the palpitations. He hadn't had a drink of water in too long.

Even the liquid from the IV drip was beginning to look succulent.

The taste and effect would be only an afterthought, an inconsequential side effect to the cool, running wash over his tongue and throat, which had begun to feel almost fuzzy, even when wetted with the salty blood from Loki's cracked lips.

He would do it, he decided. Had his hands not been bound, he would rip the needle from his hand and tear it, and suck the drug into his throat.

Perhaps if his hands were free, Loki wouldn't fantasize about that.

He wasn't sure.

And then there was a noise. It was louder, more concrete and certain than the persistent but forgettable ringing inside the canal of Loki's ears, a creak, a tap and a click. And then more clicks, echoing clicks growing louder, closer, the very vibrations of them becoming more and more obtrusive.

Loki rolls his eyes to the side in an attempted to wet them just enough to see, but can't. There are small ringings as pieces of metal and glass are arranged against other pieces of metal and glass, and then clicks once again.

Even when the man stands directly above him, Loki cannot focus enough to see. His mouth droops dumbly, and he is listless, but alert. So alert. So sleepy, and so very awake.

A comment is made about Loki looking terrible, that oh, is the god of chaos and mayhem reduced to such a stupid, lifeless thing? But Loki only vaguely hears it.

And then he is told to _FUCKING_ _LISTEN, WORTHLESS SACK OF SHIT._

Something stings. Loki knows he's been slapped, can feel his cheek heating from the impact, but it somehow doesn't register, doesn't feel as though it's _him_ being slapped, and screamed at, and then slapped again.

And then there's something else, something not sharper, but louder, painfully loud, and persistent, and it will not just fucking _stop,_ and Loki's eyes dart to his hand that he cannot see, and his dumb, stupid mouth finally _screams._

And he keeps screaming, but his voice cannot match the volume of the pulling, the _ripping_ in his fingertip, but _fuck_ does he try. There is a small sob in his throat that cuts him off for a moment, followed by another, and another, and they quake his chest and throat but do not reach to wet his eyes.

The screaming stops, but the breath and the effort do not, only the sound. Loki feels sharp and almost soft just beneath the sack beneath his jaw, just _slipping,_ and it fucking _hurts,_ and then the breathing stops too as Loki fights for breath against the blood that is oozing down his windpipe.

As he goes to cough, it's as if the breath is sucked out altogether, and he can feel something slipping from his mouth. He bites the tip of his tongue, sobbing silently at the pain but resilient enough not to let it slip. But the tugging and the sucking gets harder, and Loki still can't breathe, and he can feel his teeth sinking closer, and his whole body is trembling as they finally tear through the tip and the rest slips behind.

Loki can taste everything. He can taste the rustic, salty fluid of the blood that is now dripping down the sides of his mouth, and then he can taste the back of his _own fucking throat_ , but only for a moment. The next, he tastes rubbery, sticky latex at the tip of his tongue before another wash of salt, and the blockage clears his throat, and Loki sobs as he tastes the air, his mouth empty, his tongue gone but still _there,_ still _tasting,_ and he screams, but it's muffled by the obstruction and the soft gargling of blood.

_Please just let me go home._


	2. He is gone.

The taste of latex is suddenly absent, and Loki is forced to focus on the taste of the small flap of flesh his tongue protrudes from, and if he could gag, he would.

It is not for long, though, and then there is the man again, hovering above him, and Loki wishes he could tell if he was looking into his eyes, but they are so dry he cannot see, save the colors and the huge, hot light bouncing off the too-white walls and the shape of him, and he's holding something and Loki does not know what.

The scream that comes from Loki's throat is more of a breathless gurgle, but it resonates into a painful cry that he's sure only he can hear, and he does not know if the scream is inside or outside of his mind.

And then there is something, and Loki swears that it isn't, but a needle, thick and hollow, is there, and if Loki could rip his eyes away from the sight of it he would, but it's _inside,_ and he can see only it. He feels the soft jelly of his eye ripple away from the intrusion, and he finally manages to rip a scream from his throat, his bound hands pulling at the strapping for all they're worth, but he's only met with pressure and resistance as he pulls, just _pulls,_ if for nothing else, something to ground him, to keep him _here,_ to keep him away from his eyes and the needle.

Loki can see nothing out of the eye that has been ruined, and blood has clouded the other from a vein burst in his fit of screaming. As the needle withdraws with a sick, unholy _pop,_ he sobs, crying to shut his eyes, to clench his lids together and stop the burning, wash the blood away before it gets sopped up like water. He thrashes, mouth agape and empty, gagging again on his own need to cry.

There is pressure on his lower abdomen, and Loki recognizes it as hands, gloved, sticking hands, and he had not noticed until this point that he was not clothed.

The hand is around Loki's penis now, and he sobs around and through his tongue, coughing as it vibrates against the slit in his throat. It strokes him, hardens him, and he wills the blood away from it but he _can't,_ and he hates that it feels good, and he almost cries for pain again, for _anything but this_.

Loki can only see red and nothing, black splotched across whatever tinted vision he has. He tries to focus on that, on sight, to move his consciousness to his ruined, bloody eyes that he was thankful not to see.

There is a sharp, cold opening in the slit.

_No no no no not there not there please no no no please let me go please let me go home please I'm sorry please please please_

It is only cold at first, smooth, the skin stretching apart along the cut, and then it _hits,_ and Loki fucking _screams,_ tongue or throat or eyes be damned. He shakes as he feels it peeling, slowly becoming absent and separated but still _there._ The scalding, ripping _hurt_ continues down the length of his penis, and then it cuts off, and it is all _peeling_.

...

Loki is gone now.

He watches, sees himself, and he vaguely, _barely_ knows he is there. He cannot leave entirely. He cannot pass out. He cannot stop it. But he is gone.

When his legs are tied, forced above him by a rope above his head, he knows he is dead. He is not a person. He is liquid.

Blood and pain and breathing.

The pain is not muted. But it is accepted, openly, as there is nobody inside to reject it.

...

There is something inside of him now.

It burrows deep.

He is ripped open from the inside once again.

He does not reject it.

He does not scream.

He does not cry.

 


	3. Escape

Tom vomited when he came into the room.

It had all hit at once. It wasn't sight, then smell, then sound of muffled, _gurgled_ screaming. It was all there, each in its own rightful intensity, and Tom vomited again when he finally looked back. It wasn't for another long, sick fifteen minutes that he finally was able to look for more than a few seconds, and even then it was only with the very outside corner of his eye, trying not to breathe in the rotted, reeking stench of clotting blood mixed with shit and urine.

He only then noticed the red film over Loki's eyes, held open by some device, situated behind his head and realized that Loki hadn't seen him.

It occurred to him to undo Loki's restraints first, but he figured it was best to leave them until he was sure Loki wouldn't panic and kill him then and there.

He looked away slightly as he undid the hooks that pulled Loki's eyelids apart, careful to keep that _tongue_ out of his field of vision. He failed, though, and if he had anything left, he would have vomited again.

Loki tore against the restraints and Tom pulled away quickly, his hand covering Loki's throat so that he couldn't see the blood squirting from the open wound around his tongue as his screams grew louder. He didn't close his eyes entirely, as he didn't want to injure Loki _more,_ but he narrowed them so he could just barely see it, and finished pulling out the hooks.

Loki's eyes shut instantaneously, but he screamed again from the stinging, and Tom didn't even realize he had considered it but he was suddenly stroking what he could reach of Loki's stomach, the only place he could see no damage. Loki shook violently, but Tom gently kept at it, doing his best not to pay attention to the sobs that never left Loki's chest, but heaved, bloody, stinging tears running down the sides of his cheeks.

“Loki, Loki it's me-”

Loki didn't move, other than arching and pulling against the ropes that were beginning to bloody his wrists and ankles, and Tom continued to rub him, silently cursing his uselessness as his own sobs shook his body.

Tom noticed then that the needle stuck in the back of Loki's hand was being driven deeper with every moment of struggle, the tube now beginning to embed in the skin of Loki's hand.

He took his hands off of Loki's stomach, gagging as he caught a particularly strong whiff of his surroundings, and pressed his weight onto Loki's wrist, leaning into it with one hand, barely resisting Loki's struggle, as the other pulled out the iv.

It was then that Loki paused, his wrists still straining against the restraints, though it could have been an attempt to separate himself from the agony by just doing _something,_ Tom wasn't sure. Loki was sobbing still, or trying to, and Tom was working so hard not to let his own messy, thick tears cloud his vision.

_He looked so_ _**cold** _ _there._

So Tom shrugged off his jacket, one arm getting caught in the sleeve from the rushed movement, and gently set it over Loki.

He realized then, that as long as it would take for Chris to find them, as long as it would take an ambulance to come, there was not enough time. He would have to leave the building to call, leaving Loki vulnerable and alone, and if someone did come back, surely someone strong enough to capture a _god_ could imprison Tom as well.

So Tom ignored his own voice of reason that told him that Loki was blind and therefore dangerous, and he pulled the knife from his pocket and cut the restraints on Loki's feet. They shook violently as he lowered them, setting them back onto the table, and Loki stopped pulling, only gasped and sobbed.

And then Tom cut the ties around Loki's wrists and pulled the jacket to cover Loki as best he could. He reached underneath his knees _(fuck fuck fuck that's shit that's_ _ **shit**_ _)_ and under his upper back, lifting him to his chest.

Loki had lost consciousness and was struggling to breathe around his tongue. Trying to ignore the gurgle, the slight bubbling of the blood coming out of Loki's throat, Tom eased the door open.

And then he pulled Loki tight to his chest and ran.


	4. Dragon

Loki had been in the hospital for three days. Tom had yet to leave his side.

It had come to the point where Tom's friends would worry. He hadn't left to eat, barely had anything to drink. When he needed to relieve himself, he used the restroom inside of Loki's room, leaving the door open so that he could keep an eye on him.

Loki hadn't woken up. He was stable though, and Tom was thankful for that. There were thick, white stitches just under his jaw where his tongue was dragged through, and his eyes doused in water to clear the blood, though they could do nothing for his sight. Magic or none, Loki could not see, and may not for the rest of his life.

His rectum, torn and ripped by the pear, was stitched as well, though it was no use at the moment, he had a small bag on his hip and a tube leading into his colon. Tom hoped he would not have to live with it forever.

The worst may have been his penis, which had been skinned and damn near split in two. The doctors stitched it, salvaged what they could. But it still hurt Tom to see, it _all_ hurt Tom to see.

“Tom, buddy, you've got to eat _something.”_

Chris stood in the doorway, but Tom didn't turn to him. He continued to watch Loki, and Chris actually wondered what Tom thought might happen if he looked away.

When Tom didn't answer, Chris tapped him on the shoulder, shoving a saran-wrapped turkey sandwich in his face. “I know you aren't supposed to get food in here, but-”

“Why?”

Chris frowned. “Because you've starved for the past-”

“No no, why is it not allowed? Is it dangerous?”

“...”

Tom did look at Chris this time, his mouth upward in a forced, guilty smile. He knew Chris only wanted the best for him, and that he had probably been fairly neglectful. Chris smiled back, patting Tom on the back. “I can bleach it if you want me to.”

Tom laughed softly for the first time in three days.

He did end up eating the sandwich, dry and flavorless as it was. But it was food after all, and dry and flavorless was better than nothing.

It wasn't until the nurse managed to convince him that Loki would not wake up for quite a while that he agreed to go home and shower. They tried to get him to take a good nights sleep as well, but that he wouldn't have. Instead they rolled in an uncomfortable, pink-sheeted bed with handles and buttons on the sides, so that he could sleep when he absolutely had to.

He even got one of Loki's nurses to teach him to care for Loki. She showed him how to change his bags, (the nausea had subsided after a while) check his stitches, change his sheets without taking him out of the bed. He helped her wash him with a warm cloth, then dress him in his gown. If nothing else, it gave him something to do, and helped Tom feel as though he wasn't entirely useless.

Tom thought he'd cry more than he did. It was almost a guilty feeling, and he questioned himself, wondered if maybe he didn't _care enough._

Part of him was afraid of Loki waking up. He would panic, surely, which was more dangerous than anything.

After all, blinding and ripping the tongue from a dragon doesn't make it any less of a dragon. And to tie that dragon down with chains it was fully capable of breaking, surrounding it with sounds and scents it has never known is only asking for death.

Tom wondered, absurdly, how much fire Loki would have to breathe to burn the entire hospital to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, sorry for such a short chapter! The next one will be longer, I promise. And thank you to everyone who's commented! I'll get to responding to all of them individually soon. I cried reading them, I hope you know.   
> I'll try to start the next update soon, though it might take a bit longer since I'm beginning college in the spring. Anyway, have a good thanksgiving!


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